Purebloods Are Royal: Living as a Black
by Moony vs. Padfoot
Summary: Sirius talks about how he lived, from a young child, to an adult. About his house, about his friendships, about his life. Completely in his point of view.
1. As A Young Child

Chapter 1: As a Young Child

Any characters, settings, dates, ect that you may recognize, are Jo Rowlings. 'Cause she rocks.

By Padfoot

I personally like this fic a lot, and I know what I'm planning to do with it, and I already started chapter two, which means I'll update soon. This is also a bit different than what I usually write, _no_ diolouge at all. It's all in Sirius Black's POV. So there. - Padfoot

* * *

It is hard for anyone besides me to imagine the memories of my life. It is hard for anyone to realize how strong you have to be to live through it. It is hard to imagine that some people could act in such ways. But now I'm forcing you to imagine. I'm forcing you to relive through the memories I'm about to give you of my past. I'm forcing you to be strong.

You all, reading this, know what the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black looked like in 1995, when Harry was here on his summer stay. It was quite similar to that even when I was growing up, living there before I even went to Hogwarts. A mother screaming at her sons, it's dark, lonely rooms, and the feeling that you're no longer of importance are the main things people find in the Black's home.

Well, it's not even like a home, at all. A home is somewhere you look forward to returning to after a long journey. A home has a welcoming door, windows in every room to keep it light, and nice inhabitants. A home is where you live. Where you love living; where you would spend your entire life if you could. But no. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is not a home.

If you even thought about calling the Black house a home, I'd definitely not speak to or of you for weeks. The bedrooms have gray walls, no windows, just oil lamps to bring hardly any, but some, light into the rooms. The kitchen downstairs is small, and damp, mostly home to our house elf, Kreatcher. I could never wait until he died, that way we could chop off his head and mount it onto the wall like the past house elves.

I would gladly tell you every horrid detail about the Black house, but I am sure that you have better things to do then cringe as you imagine my lifestyle as a young child. The Black home was a _dwelling_, more like. It was just a shelter for me. It was just a roof to hang over my head, a place where I could sleep. While my whole life I would prefer living out on the streets than the home I was born into.

Even worst than the dwelling that I lived in, were the people that I lived with. Sure, we were only a four person family, but my mother constantly had her snobbish friends over and my mother and father held small parties in our home at least once a month. I also shared a room with my younger brother, Regulus; who was a nightmare. I can still recall my mother's repulsive screams telling me that he was a much better son than I.

My mother was—I'd rather not say it. I spent most of my childhood confided in my lonesome room with Regulus because of her. Before her parties, with her equally conceited friends, she would yell at me, mostly, and tell me to behave myself, and if I didn't, I would regret it forever. Some parties I had to spend locked in my room, which I really didn't mind, actually. I'd rather spend an evening shut up in my room then be shunted to the side by men and women twice my size.

My father wasn't really around that much; he was at the Ministry of Magic most of the time, though he didn't work there. When he _was _around, though, he was commenting and complaining. My family is pure-bloods, which made Mr. Black feel that we were absolutely royal, belonging to one of the last pure-blood families left. Marrying a muggle was completely wrong, and should be punishable by law. That was his philosophy, anyway. My father and mother constantly shoved this philosophy down our throats.

My younger brother, Regulus, was your extreme mommy's-boy. My mother loved him like she never did to me. Regulus trailed my mother around the house, believing every word that spat out of her and father's mouths. He was an equally snobbish boy and was always a favorite at mother's parties. If only he would learn that being a pure-blood wizard meant nothing if you act superior.

As a child I was either shunted aside or yelled at; looking back, it's surprising that I didn't shut up inside myself and disappear completely. But, somehow, I always kept my hopes up. There was always a burning light inside of me that kept me spirited for the first eleven years of my life. You can guess how I felt when I got my letter to Hogwarts.

* * *

**You read it—You loved it—Now Review it!**


	2. The Beginning of a Hogwarts Year

Chapter 2: A Beginning to a Hogwarts Year

Anything that you can describe to me in three sentences belongs to Jo Rowling. Because she owns Sirius Black. And Howlers.

Still By Padfoot

Now, this one's a little shorter than I would've liked, and I'm sure some of you will agree. The four reviewers that I got for my last chapter were my inspiration to continue onto this one. So if I only get three reviewers. . . wink wink nudge nudge - Padfoot

* * *

One downside to going to Hogwarts was the fact that I realized how other people lived. So unlike me. They had mothers and fathers that actually loved them for who they were, no matter what opinions they might have. I could tell this from the moment I saw the parents and children giving their goodbyes that their lifestyles were different from mine. Of course, I knew, that people really didn't live like how I did, but I never really saw how other people lived, besides the snooty friends of my parents.

I was most anxious about the opportunity to make friends at Hogwarts. I had made one friends before Hogwarts, actually. His name was Malcolm, and I met him at one of my mother's parties when I was seven. Malcolm's mother was a widow then, my mother kept trying to help her find a new husband, so Malcolm was over a lot. When his mother unexpectedly married a muggle, my mum forbid me to ever speak to him again. Malcolm was my first, and last, as I pitied, friend.

On the train to Hogwarts, I met the three best friends I could probably ever make in my entire lifetime. I still say, to this day, that we all met by pure luck. There was Peter Pettigrew, small, annoying, and yet desperately loyal. Remus Lupin, extremely smart and social, once you got to know him. Last was, a friend that I was sure to be my best friend forever, James Potter. James, apart from his messy hair, was a great friend with a different personality, which rubbed into mine and forced us to be the best of friends. I'll never forget that day, when we declared our friendship.

_ Through the pushing and shoving all the other students made as they exited out of the train, the four of us managed to stay grouped together. A large man was calling out for the first years, I, as well as Remus, began to walk towards him, but James took our shoulders and pulled us towards him. Peter, who was walking slowly behind James, joined in the huddle._

"_So," James said under his breath, so only we could hear. "We're friends, then?" He looked us all strait in the eye, holding his gaze on me for a second. "No matter which house we're sorted in?"_

_ Peter nodded, smiling. _

"_Absolutely," Remus confirmed before walking towards the large man that was calling the first years. _

"_Of course," I grinned; and for that second, I was completely happy. I had friends._

_ We followed the unusually large man and got into a small boat together._

_ The view over the lake was amazing. All four of us were stuck with awe. The glossy lake water reflected our faces as we looked down into the black waters._

_ A stern old woman led us into the Hogwarts doors. The first room was huge, with its marble stairs leading to who-knows-where. Before we went into the other room to be sorted, I thought, I just might be able to live here, with a smile. _

The entire Black family has been sorted into Slytherin, and is mighty proud of it. Now, my mum was _not_ happy when she got the news of her son, a Gryffindor. The first morning of lessons, you should have heard the howler. Her voice was screaming at me like I had killed someone or something.

"_GRYFFINDOR!? GRYFFINDOR!? I HAVE NEVER BEEN INSULTED MORE IN MY ENTIRE LIFETIME THAN TO HAVE MY SON BE A GRYFFINDOR! OH, YOU JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU GET HOME, SIRIUS BLACK!"_

There was plenty more yelling then that, but I think you'll agree with me when I say that I'm not going to tell you all of it.

Although the haunting thought of what my mother was going to do to me when I got home, I was glad to be in Gryffindor, because so were my newfound friends. So, I not only had the three best friends in the world, but I had the three best roommates for the next seven years of my life. I can still tell you that those seven years were the happiest I've ever had.

At Hogwarts, I had found a certain gift for Transfiguration. Transfiguration had always been easy for James and me. Other classes were easier for me also, but Transfiguration mostly. I don't know if anyone in my family had a gift for Transfigeration, or if I was the first one. The first few weeks in Transfigeration we hardly did anything at all, though. Even when we did, I sucecceded on the first or second try, and was left chatting with James for the remainder of the class period.

And so, my first year at Hogwarts began. I was high-spirited, energetic, and carefree.

* * *

**You read it—You loved it—Now Review it!**


End file.
